Z-A of Getting Together
by Ethanamide
Summary: Sherlolly sequel to A-Z of Breaking Up! Now Molly is single again, how will the inevitable happen? Follows S4, and beyond.
1. Z: Zigazig-ah

_Did you miss me?_ Here is the first chapter of your Sherlolly sequel to A-Z. A big thank you to those of you who responded so kindly to the first installment of 'Offcuts', I've got quite a few chapters that didn't quite fit here, so that's where they'll be going. Here's to hoping you enjoy this new venture!

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Z is for Zigazig-ah, zero

* * *

Molly was enjoying the single life. Tom had left, all his bags packed over a week ago now, and the freedom she felt told her she'd made the right decision. They'd agreed to stay in contact as friends, but Molly wasn't sure this would go much beyond the odd trip to the pub with other friends, and maybe a Christmas card, which was plenty in her eyes. Her good mood, however, was somewhat tempered by Sherlock's sudden disappearance from the face of the Earth. Lestrade hadn't seen him for three weeks, John and Mary had been back from their honeymoon over a week now, and neither had seen or heard a peep from the detective. It was disconcerting to say the least, as he rarely kept her out of the loop unless he was going to do something monumentally stupid, and even then, Mycroft usually kept her updated. This time, however, both brothers were shutting her out, which was getting increasingly more worrying as time went on.

The most suspicious thing of all, was that somehow all contact between herself and the Holmes parents had been stopped, without an explicit reason as to why. When she'd asked Mycroft why she couldn't get hold of his mother to book in their monthly lunch date, she had received a strange visit from the elder brother at Bart's, where he had put on his best politician's voice, and informed her that matters were above her pay grade (meaning her security clearance, which had never been an issue previously), and he was not at liberty to let a civilian get themselves involved in something they couldn't possibly understand.

Whatever secrets, shenanigans, and schemes the Holmes brothers were involved in, they could keep. She would be ready for whenever they inevitably needed her, and willing to inflict serious damage to Mycroft's bank account in recompense. It was how they worked, she'd seen it done to countless others time and time again, and she wasn't going to let something she couldn't control stop her from having fun.

It was approaching the summer solstice, and to celebrate the longest day of the year, Molly was going to have a few friends over, eat a lot of food, and maybe have a glass of wine or two -it was as good an excuse as any. In the end, it was just Molly, Meena, and Mary dancing away to the spice girls in her living room. A loud, mildly slurred chorus of Wannabe echoed around her flat, the lyrics periodically broken by cackling.

"I really really really wanna zigazig, ah!" They sang, dancing like the 90s had never ended.

"They had it right, you know. You wanna be my lover, you got to get with my friends," Meena declared, "Tom was never my favourite. Jim was more fun."

"He was a murderous psychopath!" Molly protested, sitting down on the sofa, regretting telling her friend the sordid details of that particular failed relationship.

"Perfect for you." Meena replied, dead-panned. "You just need to follow the rules as set by the spice girls. Or someone does at least – _get your act together, we could be just fine_ ," she sang the line with a pointed look.

Molly sank further into her seat, braced for Meena's obligatory 'Sherlock Speech', she supposed it hadn't featured for all of about three days, so it was due another airing. The problem with the speech was, that every other line was contradictory, and depending on how much wine Meena had imbibed, it could last up to half an hour. There were occasions were Molly had been able to mouth it word for word to other friends that were present, to amuse herself. This evening, however, the rant never came, and the disillusioned scouser threw herself down onto the sofa next to Molly, sighing heavily.

"What even is a zigazig, ah?" Molly asked rhetorically, after a moments silence. Mary waggled her eyebrows,

"Come on, you think everything's a bleedin' euphemism," Meena drawled, her Liverpudlian lilt getting stronger as her alcohol intake increased.

"It's a rare crystal formation, only found under the extreme conditions of the Atacama Desert," Mary replied, doing an uncanny impression of one consulting detective; the three fell about laughing.

"He wouldn't have a clue," Molly giggled, "Is that some sort of vegetable?" she mimicked, her impression not quite as good as Mary's, but close enough to send them all back into a fit of giggles.

"Where has all tall, dark, and cockblocky been lately anyway? He didn't terrorise my students at all last week. I might even start to miss him if he's not careful," Meena asked, hoping that it wasn't going to be like the last time he disappeared. She didn't need another Tom to deal with.

"His nibs is sulking," Mary said with a roll of her eyes.

"You know Mrs H kept telling him the story about how when her best friend got married she never saw her again?" Molly said despairingly, she loved the older lady to pieces, but it was not a story Sherlock had needed to hear. He would almost certainly be pre-emptively hiding, (while sulking), to avoid any form of emotional response to the situation. He wasn't good with change, and this was one of the largest upheavals in his life, and given he'd died and been brought back to life within the last few years, that was saying something.

"He'll come crawling back, he always does," Meena said confidently, no matter what happened he always seemed to gravitate towards the pathologist. She'd seen the ebb and flow of the pair over the years, and the only people that seemed to be convinced they weren't in a relationship, were Sherlock and Molly themselves. Much like the sweepstake that had been run about Molly and Tom's wedding day, there was a permanent betting circle on her ward, which gave odds on when they'd get together, if they were secretly together, and other things like how many murders this month, and how much overtime Molly would work. It was fairly tame, for the most part, but that was because Meena would not let Anderson anywhere near it.

The three spent the rest of the evening making up wild theories as to where Sherlock had gone to sulk, and what he could be doing. Meena was convinced that his alien overlords had returned, and beamed him back up to the mothership, whereas Mary had a super-secret-case theory, that almost matched Molly's concerns exactly. To try and move away from Mary's slightly too realistic theory, Molly gave her most fanciful embellishments to Mary's story, wondering if Moriarty might have had a twin or secret lover who Sherlock was now facing off against. They eventually came to the conclusion that the microchip Mycroft had implanted in Sherlock's brain had malfunctioned, and he was awaiting a reboot at a secret government facility somewhere.

John arrived bang on time to pick Mary up, and was decidedly uninterested in joining in the conversation about Sherlock's whereabouts. None of the ladies were impressed by John's attitude towards his friend, and it was lucky for him that Meena's wife, Ruth, showed up shortly after him, as Meena did not appreciate John's lack of care, or his scathing tone. Meena had known Sherlock almost as long as Molly, and was acutely aware of the man's failings, but that did not mean he deserved to be side-lined, or outright ignored by the person who claimed to be his best friend. He may not be the most affable of humans, and she did want to punch him more often than hug him, but he did not warrant John's overly harsh assessment of the situation. Tolerance was not the bedrock of a good friendship. Before she could voice her opinion, however, Ruth whisked her out of the door, and Mary made a point to shuffle John out of the door, and towards the car as quickly as possible.

Molly sighed in relief as she shut the front door, and walked into her kitchen to re-fill Toby's food. The cat was missing Sherlock as much as she was, she kept finding him curled up in Sherlock's spare dressing gown that usually hung in her wardrobe. She'd made sure to keep the windows shut, and check he hadn't followed her out of the door, or her cat would be at Baker Street, and unlikely to return of his own accord. Normally, that wouldn't be a issue, and she supposed she could always ask Mrs Hudson to bring him back to her, but if he wasn't going to deign to text her back once in a while, he certainly wasn't allowed any Toby-time.


	2. Z: Zero

_Hey look! It me! A quick reminder that you can find me on tumblr at either Fibrochemist, or my writing sideblog ethanamide-writes, where you'll find all the excuses for how long it took me to write this..._ _Thank you so much for all of your very kind words about the first installment of this sequel, (double thanks to the wonderful human who systematically reviewed A-Z recently, prompting me to get off my backside and do something) hope you enjoy the second, love you all!_

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Z is for Zero

* * *

Molly was on edge. She had not seen hide nor hair of any Holmes for almost a month, Mycroft having stopped all contact between her and Mr and Mrs Holmes with no warning or explanation, and then ceasing to speak to her himself. Sherlock had fallen of the face of the Earth, no one had heard from him, not Lestrade, John, or Mary, and she was starting to become very concerned. It was unusual for her to be shut out of Sherlock's movements, but very odd for him not to have had some form of sporadic contact with Greg. The realisation that she hadn't seen John or Mary either since they flew off for their honeymoon was somewhat reassuring, she snorted at the thought that Sherlock had simply followed them abroad and was causing havoc in some foreign town grumbling about John not coming on a case, or taking too long to bail him out of prison.

She was grabbing a well deserved mid-morning cup of tea when John rang. Her first thought was that it was far too early for Mary to be going into labour, her second that Sherlock was in trouble. Hoping that he was simply popping by, she answered, putting on a voice that she hoped masked just how much of a bad feeling she had about this. Unfortunately for her, her gut feelings were almost always right. As she hung up, she put the mug down on her desk carefully, lest she give in and throw it at the wall. She was shaking slightly with fear, and anger, whatever had driven Sherlock Holmes to drugs did not bode well for the rest of them. She should have known that a month's silence from the detective would lead to something like this, but after so many years clean she'd given him the benefit of the doubt. It stung that Mycroft had said nothing to her, she supposed he was how John found him in the first place.

When five of them showed up in her lab, she was a little confused. Firstly by the presence of a teenager, and secondly by someone she recognised as one of Sherlock's homeless network. At least she hoped he was, otherwise he was just a creepy stalker that liked to sit a little too close to her flat a little too often. Perhaps the strangest thing of all, however, was that Sherlock was not nearly as high as he was acting. John supervised the sample taking, and as the results came through the machine she went from confused to utterly livid. He was, to all intents and purposes, clean. There was trace implications of substance abuse, but nothing that indicated he had taken anything within the last 24 hours.

He had been a recreational drug user for as long as she'd known him. She'd tested him for all sorts of maladies and substances over the years (including the time he'd given himself blood poisoning by working with the wrong solvent system), and trace cocaine was a regular feature in the results. She'd never asked, and he'd never said. Mycroft had asked her to keep an eye on it, and thus far, she had had no cause for concern – or rather no more cause than usual. There was more to it than that, she knew the scars and track marks on his arms and toes were not those of a casual drug user, but she left the topic alone. She figured he already had big brother watching, and at the end of the day, he was an adult who was perfectly capable of making an informed choice about what he put in his body.

The real questions were: who was he trying to fool, and why? Holing up in the same smack house as one of John's neighbours had been a clever move, allowing him to be 'caught in the act', tested, and news to spread with very little effort.

After a few moments of silence, John asked her if he was clean. Molly took a deep breath, it would benefit no one if she was to out him now, and they both knew it.

"Clean?" She parroted, turning to face the supposed junkie in front of her, and dealing three very sharp slaps to his face. One for his lie, one for her lie, and one for not coming to her in the first place. She chastised him, and told him to apologise. His weak quip about her failed engagement, however, was the last straw.

"Stop it. Just stop it," She said, thoroughly fed up, angry that he had put her in this situation. The easiest way not to lie was to leave people to their own assumptions, and knowing John did not react well to lies, even those meant to save his own life, this was the least damaging tactic.

John had taken the bait, but before he could finish the 'standard concerned words' he gave to Harry every time she fell off the wagon, Sherlock rolled his eyes and stopped him. He claimed it was all for a case, and deflected away from the drugs with a deduction about cycling. John, however, was not willing to play that game today. A voice piped up from the back of the room, turning the focus of the conversation fully towards John, the lack of name in his statement not fooling anyone.

The young man at the back of the room further confirmed Molly's suspicions when he began to deduce the creases in John's shirt. She wasn't sure whether to be comforted that Sherlock was having her watched, or angry that he felt the need to because this case was to be kept from her. She caught the flicker of a smile on Sherlock's face, and a twitch of anger in John's, as the young man continued to deduce the doctor.

There were too many coincidences for Molly not to feel like this whole scenario had been set up deliberately. It killed many birds with one stone, without revealing anything he didn't want, or giving the opportunity for questions. She was brought out of her thoughts by Sherlock's phone going off. His drug habit had hit the papers, and he was far too pleased about it.

Sherlock exited the room, in the process of making a phone call, although to who, no one was quite sure. Molly hoped it was his mother. In the end, John and Sherlock returned to Baker Street, Mary took Isaac and Billy home, leaving Molly alone in the lab to destroy any evidence of the last ten minutes happening.

That afternoon, she walked past one Bill Wiggins on her way home, she put a fiver in his cup, rolled up with a note inside, inviting him for a coffee. An hour later, he appeared in the garden of her downstairs neighbour, and being sure to not leave a blade of grass out of place, made his way up the fire escape. When Toby appeared to be familiar with the man, Molly rolled her eyes, that was how Sherlock had retrieved some of his things without leaving a trace, he had never been there in the first place. She made a pot of tea, and handed him a cup with a smile that he found decidedly unnerving.

"What's going on, Billy?" She asked, daring him to try and lie to her. He shifted nervously in his seat, but remained silent. Molly was content to sit and wait for him to talk, he was loyal to Sherlock, but there was definite guilt she could play on. The silence remained as she tidied up the tea things, and put something in the oven to heat up for dinner. They ate in silence, until Billy finally relented,

"Mr Holmes explicitly said not to tell the missus anything," He said quietly, "I'm sorry Ms Molly,"

She sighed, ignoring his strange wording, shook her head, and put the dinner things in the dishwasher,

"It was a longshot," She shrugged, "How did he find you?"

"He needed someone who wouldn't be seen," Billy said cryptically, but continued on at her unimpressed expression "I'm good with computers, and I'm good at being nobody. I was a hactivist back in the day, targeted the wrong person, Mr Holmes found my work,"

Molly smiled knowingly, Sherlock was good at accumulating wronged people, and righting them again. They chatted a little before Billy's phone went off – a summons. He apologised for not being able to tell her more, and promised to do his best to look after Sherlock. Molly waved off his apology, and sent him on his way, hoping the next time she saw him, he would be more willing to say something.

Sherlock was not best pleased when he found out the Billy had been invited in by Molly, and even less so when the younger man, looking very pleased with himself, declared that he hadn't told the missus nothing about his plans - he had intended that instruction to be about Janine. He sighed, keeping Molly out of this was proving impossible, he just hoped he could get enough from tonight to stop Magnussen from going after her too. He checked his pocket for the ring he'd purchased earlier, and text John. They were running out of time.


	3. Z: Zone

Z is for Zone

With thanks to Juldooz for giving me a kick. Thank you all for your lovely support so far, hope this tides you over for the time being!

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The journey to Magnussen's office was a quiet one, Sherlock zoned out, ruminating on the last few months for the duration. He hadn't been sure until she'd slapped him that Molly had left Tom. He'd been pretty certain that them breaking up was the likely outcome, but there was still a probability that they would both actually sit down and talk through their relationship like adults, something they had neglected to do up to that point. It still baffled him how they'd got that far down the line without realising how incompatible they were. Neither were unintelligent by general societal standards, both with adequate social skills, and yet they had missed all the key indicators that they would not be successful together – for example, Tom's predilection with not pulling his weight around the home, and Molly's career driven attitude. Sherlock would be the first to admit he was not the most socially adept, but even he knew that unless both of those things were addressed early on, the relationship was doomed to failure.

It was an interesting experience, therefore, his not-quite relationship with Janine. It was almost worth doing just for the look on John's face, but as time went on he found himself regretting leading her on like this, even knowing he ultimately had no choice. Juggling time with her, and feeding his habit enough to make the papers, while looking into what might have Mycroft cowed, on top of trying to maintain a reasonably normal routine, was proving taxing. He had cut off all unnecessary contact with Molly, and Greg, after Moriarty one could not be too careful. It did mean, however, that his usual outlets for blowing off steam were removed from him, he could not eat all of Molly's food and pretend not to play with Toby, or spend the day traipsing around with Greg just because he could. He was instead confined to playing the boyfriend and living vicariously through Wiggins.

He had sought out the young man deliberately for this case, knowing him to be inconspicuous, loyal, and already involved with Magnussen. He needed to keep as few people in the loop as possible, and theoretically, he could do it with just him and Billy at this stage. Wiggins also had a very useful skill set, having studied chemistry at university, like Sherlock himself, but moved into computer programming swiftly after graduating. While working for a small start-up, he'd come across something odd in the news about an acquaintance from university that had started working as a journalist for a major newspaper chain, it was almost a smear campaign, something usually reserved for politicians, not new graduates. Eventually she lost her job, lost everything, and was forced to move back in with her parents, who also mysteriously lost everything. So he started digging, found things he shouldn't have, and ended up in the same position as her, until Sherlock picked him up.

They came to a mutually beneficial deal, Sherlock would house Wiggins, make sure he was warm, and fed, with some decent clothes, while Wiggins would keep an eye on Sherlock's drugs, and give feedback information on various individuals of interest. Usually it was Molly, making sure she was safe, and half an eye on Greg, so that his cases still got solved, but occasionally it would be smuggling out Molly's large, evil ginger cat so Sherlock could 'think', and then returning the beast before she got home. He provided a level of social interaction that Sherlock would normally get from Molly or John, which stopped him from wanting to gouge his eyes out during evenings with Janine. Living this lie, coupled with watching his own life through the eyes of someone else was a peculiar experience, and not one he wanted to endure for any longer than necessary.

It would be worth it in the long run, he kept telling himself, Molly and his parents would forgive him eventually, no matter how highly they disapproved of his methods. They would be alive and unharmed, which with Mycroft out of the picture, was all he was hoping for.

It was rare that one Holmes went up against a foe without the other, and unheard of for one to side with an enemy over the other. He had suspected his brother to be under the proverbial thumb not long after he'd had Lady Smallwood come to him, the problem was that he couldn't seem to find anything, aside from himself and their parents, that could possibly act as a pressure point. This in itself was a concern for Sherlock, especially given the way his brother had acted earlier – the key word being acted. Mycroft had deliberately helped him, while declaring himself for Magnussen, and been particularly slimy about it. Mycroft would have known that he was simply dabbling, rather than falling back under the influence, much like Molly, it was not a difficult deduction if you knew his tells. By performing the drugs bust on his home, he had done his bit towards cementing that vice as his pressure point, protecting the goldfish he sometimes swam amongst. Whatever his brother was hiding was significant; an unsettling thought.

As grateful as he was to Mycroft, however, it was Molly who he would need to thank once all this was over. Her willingness to lie for him seemed to know no bounds, even when given no notice, no explanation, and a mess of paperwork to fill in. After his little display in the lab, Wiggins going in and out of her flat without permission, and the inevitable media fallout of his time with Janine, he would owe her more than just a Molly's Day or two.

He was brought out of his brooding by John elbowing him, they had arrived. Here went nothing.


	4. Y: Youngs Bitter

Y is for Youngs

 _Youngs is a brewery, they make various beers, this work is not an advertisement, other beers are available but do not begin with Y. Love to you all, emjoy :)_

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Not half an hour after Billy had left, Molly received a summons of her own. Meena was on her way to the pub, and insistent that she accompany her, saying that there would be a half of that strange banana bread beer that she enjoyed so much waiting for her. A short notice summons only meant one thing with Meena at the moment, she had 'news'. Her best friend liked to think of herself as a font of all knowledge, and while she was highly intelligent and very handy in a pub quiz team, she was also a terrible gossip. Molly sent off a quick text to Greg, wondering if he'd be at the pub this evening, as he was the most likely to be able to verify Meena's 'news'. She loved her best friend dearly, but she had a bee in her bonnet, and Molly was finding it wearing.

Upon entering the pub, the excitable look on Meena's face made Molly grimace, and with good reason, Meena had heard from a friend of a friend's mother's cousin, that Sherlock had been seen entering a jewellery shop, and exiting with something that looked suspiciously like a ring box. She also had it on good authority (her wife's brother-in-law's nephew) that a woman had been spotted coming and going from his flat at odd hours. Molly rolled her eyes, since Sherlock had stopped frequenting Bart's during her working hours, Meena had decided to try her hand playing detective. It had been amusing for the first week or so, but now it was just adding to her anxieties.

Lestrade joined Molly and Meena just in time for his round, and the former two spent the next hour trying not to get sucked into the latter's conspiracy theories. Meena was not appreciative of their lack of interest, and was very pleased when one Philip Anderson made an appearance, flagging him down. The two had met once or twice, and knew of the other through Molly and a couple of other mutual acquaintances. Meena had recently learned of Anderson's fan club, and wanted to pick his brains about a few Sherlock related things.

"Well now you mention it, there were new mugs in the flat this morning," He mused, then went ghostly white, as he remembered what Mycroft had said. Molly looked at him, concerned for a moment, before realising that he would have been in the flat shortly after the drugs test.

"Why were you in his flat?" Lestrade asked, confused,

"Mycroft. I thought you were pretty good at spotting the 'Mycroft asked me to do something and then made me promise never to speak of it' face?" Molly answered, confused as to why Greg was confused, surely he knew about Sherlock's _indiscretion_ by now, unless it was being deliberately kept from him, which was a disturbing thought.

"Ah, that oddly specific face. No, I normally get a text from each of them telling me what the other has done to piss them off." Greg replied, the negotiation sibling role very much his. He'd not heard from either of them for a while, and had been hoping that they'd learnt to communicate directly with each other, but that did not seem to be the case.

Molly chuckled, she was pretty sure by now that Sherlock had bitten off more than he could chew with whatever case he was on. Greg shrugged, it would cross his desk eventually most likely, someone always ended up dead in these circumstances. Anderson bought the next round, and ended up deep in conversation with Meena about this supposed trip to the jewellers,

"You two think Sherlock has a secret girlfriend he's going to propose to? That's barmy." Lestrade interjected, Meena ignored him,

"Andy, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," She proclaimed, writing their conclusions down in a little notebook, and taking her leave of the group, Ruth needed a hand getting their next door's cat out of the cabbage patch again.

Once she was out of earshot, Anderson lowered his voice, and stated to the other two that they may need to start thinking about planning an intervention for Sherlock. Molly sighed heavily, she hated that Sherlock refused to see what his actions did to his friends. He may look after them in his own way, whether it be Molly's Day, or keeping an eye on divorce court proceedings, but anything that involved personal consequence was bypassed.

Lestrade ran a hand through his greying hair, Sherlock back on the sauce for whatever reason was not good news. Molly, in an attempt to make him feel better, disclosed that she hadn't known until this morning either. It was not comforting to any of them that something was afoot, and they were not privy to help.

"Why the drugs though?" Lestrade asked, of all the things Sherlock could have done to attract attention to himself, or deflect from somewhere else, he had chosen something easy, yet damaging. Molly took a sip of her beer, fighting with herself over whether to tell them that it was all an act. Walls have been known to have ears, however, so she thought better of it. Eventually they came to the conclusion that he must be in over his head, and want as few people involved as possible. Anderson was quick to add that whatever Sherlock was doing, whomever his client's complaint was against seemed to have an affiliation with Mycroft.

Molly resisted the urge to bang her head against the table. If the elder Holmes was unwilling to engage this individual, or they had him under their thumb, then that explained a lot. It indicated just how dangerous this person was, and why the two Holmes were working so hard to appear normal, while cutting all ties. Drugs added to the image of the pompous posh boy sociopath, something relatively harmless to be caught out with. She looked over at Greg, who appeared to be coming to the same conclusion as she was: blackmail. They exchanged worried expressions before deciding that having made themselves thoroughly miserable, it was time to go home. Molly left quickly, exhausted from the days revelations and revelries, leaving Greg with Anderson.

"I think we should just stay out of this, Philip," Lestrade said, putting his coat on, and draining the small amount left in his glass

"So we agree he's in some form of trouble," Anderson replied, mimicking Greg's movements.

"Most likely in over his head, which is bad news for us." Lestrade sighed, nodding almost imperceptibly to someone else inside as they left the building. "If big bad has sway on big brother, then we keep well clear, for our own safety."

Anderson begrudgingly agreed, he'd looked into Magnussen shortly after being dismissed from Sherlock's flat, and the man appeared to have fingers in every pie. He'd been hoping that the others would be more willing to look into the resurgence of Sherlock's habit, but if Molly wasn't concerned about that, then he supposed he should let the matter lie.

Anthea sat at the bar, contemplating what she had heard, as per Mycroft's instructions. She liked the situation even less than they did, especially as she knew what was hanging over the eldest Holmes head. She relaxed a little at the conclusion to not interfere, she didn't want to have to remove them from the situation for a while. Mycroft's hands were tied, and it was her job to make sure that Sherlock was able to work without distraction, which meant keeping his friends away unfortunately. She was not comfortable allowing the younger Holmes to isolate himself, with the recent developments in his friends' lives, that were mostly fuelled by his time away, she was worried that he would regress socially. Even if the case finished with the best case scenario, he had simply proven to himself that he didn't need anyone, and that (once again) friends were a liability. Sherlock did not work well alone, despite his protestations, and she had seen him flourish with Greg and Molly in his life. They had paved the way for him to be able to view and accept John as a friend. Without the options they afforded him, the currently casual drug habit could easily become an addictive one.

She contemplated whether there was a way to help both parties, as she finished her whiskey, but inevitably came to the same conclusion as before: Magnussen was too dangerous. With a heavy sigh she vacated the pub, just in time for her to receive a notification from the ambulance service – Sherlock Holmes had been shot.


	5. Y: Yarn, Yemen, Yowling

_It's been a while... I wrote this chapter in November last year _ sorry guys, I've got quite a bit written now I just need to make sure it all fits in together properly. I hope to get another chapter up within a fortnight. If anyone wants to beta for me (I have an offer for one chapter that I'm hoping still stands), then I would be very grateful, I'm struggling at the moment. Love to all 3_

* * *

Y is for Yarn, Yemen, Yowling

* * *

Toby Hooper had appointment with the vet at lunchtime, and as before all his other appointments, Molly liked to keep him in the house all morning to make sure he didn't wander off. This morning, however, it appeared that someone had wandered off with him. She could not find head nor tail of the ginger moggy, and spent over half an hour looking inside and out for him, calling his name, rattling the treats tin to no avail. She sighed, picked up her phone and text Wiggins, as Sherlock was refusing to acknowledge he knew her at the moment, asking what he'd done with Toby.

The reply she got was strange, just a room number, and a hospital name. A chill ran down her spine. She had been his emergency contact for years, and if an ambulance was called for him, she would receive a notification – if he'd replaced her on the form, this was more serious than she had originally thought, and her hopes hadn't been high to begin with.

Just as she was packing up Toby's bits for the vet, her phone rang: Mary. Sherlock had been shot last night, flatlined on the operating table, but was stable and receiving visitors this morning. She gave her the same details Billy had, before apologising that no one had rung her sooner, they had thought she already knew. Molly waved off her apology, it was not a bad assumption to make – or hadn't been, and said she'd be there within half an hour.

By the time she'd arrived at the hospital, Mary had hauled John home to rest, and if the whiff of smoke was anything to go by, she hadn't long missed Greg. She did, however, run into the chief bridesmaid from John and Mary's wedding just leaving Sherlock's room. The two had seemed to get on at the wedding, but it was strange for Sherlock to have continued that friendship afterwards, unless he'd needed something from her. A cursory look at the front page of the paper the other woman was carrying answered that. She had no right to be upset, she had no claim, after all, but it still stung that she hadn't even known about it. Janine was perfectly pleasant, jokingly warning her about 'Sherl' being a grouch because she'd lowered his morphine. Molly laughed with her, replying that she was well schooled in dealing with him like this. Janine narrowed her eyes briefly, as if her off-hand comment had sparked something.

"Of course, you must be Molly. Mike mentions you a lot." She said, smiling at the surprised look on Molly's face. "I thought the two of you were dating until Sherl almost died of laughter at the suggestion."

"Mycroft talks about me?" Molly grinned conspiratorially, knowing it would drive Sherlock up the wall if she tried to fake-pursue his brother. She was about to ask Janine to set them up, when the other woman's face fell, just a fraction, and she excused herself, saying that she had revenge to exact, and The One Show to prepare for. Molly waved goodbye, evidently whatever had gone on between Janine and Sherlock was no longer, and the reason was that he'd very likely done something not-good.

Molly steeled herself a little, before stepping into the hospital room, she hated them at the best of times. She sighed heavily at the sight in front of her, Sherlock lying in the bed, all wired up, dozing or thinking if his breathing pattern was anything to go by. After a couple of false starts where she'd thought him asleep, or dead and embarrassed herself, she had quickly learnt when he was thinking, and when he was abnormally still. She set her bags on the floor, along with the cat carrier, and proceeded to look around the room for said cat, while Sherlock decided whether or not he was going to speak to her. After a fruitless 5 minutes she glared at the patient in the bed, and whistled. Lo and behold Toby appeared from a space he shouldn't have been in, and leapt up onto the bed, looking for treats. It took another 5 minutes to cajole him into the carrier, Toby yowling loudly in protest, pawing at Sherlock as if he'd stop Molly taking him to the vets. The betrayal on the cat's face when Sherlock did not wake up and help would have been amusing had she not been on such a tight schedule, and full of questions about what on Earth Sherlock had got himself into this time.

She placed her hand on the doorknob, ready to leave when he finally spoke. "I need you to speak with Wiggins, and Molly, for what it's worth: I'm sorry."

"Try not to die, Sherlock," was all she said in reply, making her way down to the cab rank.

Wiggins messages did not fill her with hope that he would achieve that in her absence. A crazy plan of smuggling him out of hospital, preparing an ambulance, rearranging furniture, manufacturing a manhunt for a person she wasn't allowed to know the name of. She prepped the paperwork that would follow, to go in the ambulance with the crew, shuffled John's chair back into the lounge, borrowed a defibrillator, and left it the other side of his chair; a seemingly innocent box that would save his life again before the day was out. Then, she waited. She knitted a little, did some baking, tidied the flat, little jobs to keep her focus on anything but what she knew was happening elsewhere. Thankfully, she didn't have to kill too much time, as she was working the nightshift, which would keep her plenty busy.

The next morning she received another text from Wiggins, another room at another hospital. This one, thankfully, had a strict no pets rule so she didn't have to worry about Toby on top of everything else. She packed a small bag, complete with a couple of bits she'd taken from his flat yesterday, and made her way across London.

She hadn't seen him that spaced out for a long time, he spent fifteen minutes telling her to go and take an extended holiday to Yemen, to go and see the salmon, or something equally bizarre. He then took her knitting from her hands, and decided that he would finish it, as he was bored. She smiled knowingly, having packed plenty of yarn in the bag she'd brought for him. It was mostly gingersnaps otherwise, with his favourite mug, and some underwear. He was entertained for all of five minutes, before he insisted she leave, and not come back, for her own safety. Molly sighed heavily, leaving before he started to work himself up into a panic.

Wiggins was waiting for her when she got home, along with a carrier bag full of Chinese takeaway, and a bottle of gin. It was a little overkill, but she appreciated the thought.


End file.
